


Unrequited

by masonverger_rising



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:24:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masonverger_rising/pseuds/masonverger_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mason Verger thinks about his therapist.<br/>Mainly about his therapist's cock.<br/>And his hands.<br/>Maybe it's a little bit disturbing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Mason Verger would do for some Valium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tripleCrocodilian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tripleCrocodilian/gifts).



The house is settling in the cool evening and Mason is listening to Margot through the wall. He can’t tell what she’s doing, but it’s equal parts comforting and maddening to have her so close to him. He wonders if tonight might be the night when the guard outside his door fucks up, leaves his post. What would she do if he could sneak in to her, would she fight him? Or does she miss him as much as he misses her?

Mason pulls the blankets up under his chin and pulls his lower lip between his teeth.  He’s still on edge from today’s session with Doctor Lecter. Under the blankets he picks at his hands, he’s itchy all the time without anything in his system, his hangnails have hangnails and his fingernails are splitting from how much he’s picking. He groans in frustration and tucks his hands under his arms, he hates that the court managed to appoint the only apparently competent psychiatrist in Maryland to see him — he doesn’t mean to let Lecter get under his skin, but the man is like a bloodhound, always manages to find the sore spots, the things Mason can usually keep hidden.

Since the first session Mason has been wondering just what the Doctor makes of him — it’s almost impossible to tell, but Mason suspects that disgust is sitting just behind Lecter’s carefully maintained screen. Although that is only supposition, it could be that the Doctor feels any number of ways about him. Mason closes his eyes; they burn almost constantly, he can’t sleep and even his mother’s prescription pills have been moved so that he can’t get at them. He would blow Lecter for a few valium pills.

Hell, he’d probably blow him just to touch someone other than himself at this point. Mason’s used to having warm bodies to curl around, into, it’s easy to imagine himself on his knees in the sitting room, the fine wool of Lecter’s suit under his palms, he imagines he would smell clean; of dark spices and wood and citrus. Mason slides one hand across his own belly.

The sound would be obscene in the quiet of the sitting room, and he can practically feel Lecter’s cock in his mouth, wants to know if he would moan or if he would be as carefully composed as he is during their conversations, Mason wants to swallow Doctor Lecter’s cock until he chokes on it, he touches himself thinking about it, about the heat and the spittle running down his chin and Lecter’s hand on the back of his head, his fingers in his hair and —

Mason stops, jerks his hand away from himself as though he’s been scalded, cold dread fills him at the thought of the back of his neck, unprotected under Doctor Lecter’s hand, the soft skin exposed. He turns onto his side and curls into a ball, his erection wilts and he can hear the guard outside his door moving.

Usually he would check to see if that meant there would be a chance for him to sneak away, but this time he squeezes his eyes shut and pulls the blanket over his head and tries not to think about his therapist.


	2. Those hands though

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason Verger has a little dream about the doctor.

Mason stands looking up at the stained glass windows, at the way the afternoon sun sends a streak of red shadow across Jesus’ downturned face. That shadow only creeps across him around four in the afternoon, around home time.

He is not a child, the pew-back only reaches his thigh instead of his hip. So many years and so many growth spurts since he had last been here.

And why is he back here?

An icy jolt races down his spine, he can feel someone’s breath, hot on the back of his neck and his fingers grip the pew so tightly he can hear his joints creak. He can’t turn around, can’t face this person and find out who it is, tell them to fuck off because he’s not here for—

A hand closes over the back of his neck and Mason freezes; it feels familiar, smooth and cool, “Are you going to hurt me?” he says and his voice is small and choked and his gut twists at the sound of it.

"No Mason," Doctor Lecter, calm as you please.

Mason takes one hand off the back of the pew, he can’t decide if it would be better to pull Lecter’s hand off his neck or to reach back and try to push him away entirely, but before he can decide Lecter’s other hand slides around his wrist.

Slowly, gently, Lecter pushes Mason’s hand back towards his belly, and he feels the familiar curve under his palm, the soft rasp of expensive fabric.

"Am I supposed to—"

Lecter shushes him, the hand on Mason’s neck kneads the sensitive flesh there and he shivers, lets his palm slide down his belly, Lecter’s hand still circling his wrist but not pushing, not trying to  _make_  him do anything.

He touches himself through his trousers, feeling the weight of Lecter’s hands and watching the light moving slowly across the face of the crucified Jesus, his breath hitches and—

Mason wakes up, slick with sweat and half hard. His mouth is dry and his head throbs with every thud of his heart.

He makes small, strangled noise of frustration, something like confused embarrassment curling in his gut alongside the looming nausea, turns onto his side and closes his eyes again, trying to chase the last fragments of the dream out of his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Hannison Drabbles for tenebrisminflesh, who just cAN'T GET ENOUGH OF THIS SHIP


End file.
